"I'm sorry I haven't got a horse," apologized the watchman. "It would cost you ten dollars if I had. But I hain't." "Ten _doll_ars?" The traveller echoed the words stupidly. "I'm sorry; fact, I am," urged the watchman. "Won't you set 'n' rest a spell?" But the visitor had vanished from the office. Twenty minutes after, the door-bell of a home in the old residence portion of the town rang violently and pealed through the sleeping house. It was a comfortable, not a new-fashioned, house, sometimes leased to summer citizens, and modernized in a measure for their convenience; one of the few of its kind within reach of the station, and by no means near. When the master of the family had turned on all the burglar electricity and could get the screen up, he put his head out of the window, and so perceived on his door-step a huddled figure with a white, uplifted face. A shaking voice came up: "Sir? Be you a gentleman?" "I hope so," went down the quiet reply. "But I can't remember that I was ever asked that question at this time of morning before." "Be you a Christian?" insisted the voice from below. "Sometimes--perhaps," went down the voice from above. The voice from below came up: "Sir! Sir! I'm in great trouble. For the love of Christ, sir, come down, quick!" "Why, of course," said the voice from above. The man stood quite still when the great bolts of the door shot through their grooves. Against a background of electric brilliance he saw a gentleman in pajamas and bathrobe, with slippers as soft as a lady's on his white feet. The face of the gentleman was somewhat fixed and guarded; his features were carefully cut, behind their heavy coat of seaside tan. "Well," he said, "that was a pretty solemn adjuration. What is it?" "I want to get a team," stammered the figure on the steps. Suddenly, somehow, his courage had begun to falter. He felt the enormity of his intrusion. He came up against the mystery of social distinctions; his great human emergency seemed to be distanced by the little thing men call difference of class. "You want--to get--a team?" repeated the gentleman; he spoke slowly, without irritation. "You have made a mistake. This is not a livery-stable." "Livery-stable!" cried the intruder, with a swift and painful passion. "I've tried three! Fust one hadn't any boss. Next one hadn't any hoss. It was ten dollars if he had. Last one wanted 'leven dollars, pay in advance. I've got four dollars 'n' sixteen cents in my pocket. I've been up to Conway to bury my uncle. My folks sent me a telegraph. My little boy--he's had an accident. My train was late. I've got to get to Gloucester, sir. So I thought," added the traveller, simply, "I'd ask one of the neighbors. Neighbors is most gener'lly kind. Up our way they be. Sir--could you let me have a team to see my little boy before--in case--he dies?" "Come inside a minute," replied the gentleman.